


Revenge x Remembrance

by sweetautumnwine



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Death, During Canon, Gen, Guns, I was thinking about Paku and her death and got sad and decided to make some headcanons, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, relating to the end of the yorknew city arc; paku's death; and kurapika's fever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 12:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19376608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetautumnwine/pseuds/sweetautumnwine
Summary: When Kurapika places the Judgment Chain on Pakunoda's heart, she knows what she must do, and Kurapika learns what it means to exact revenge.





	Revenge x Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> I love Pakunoda and being sad, I guess.

She knows the sound of a death march but has never expected her own feet to sound the drums. Each step she takes is a hollow echo of her heart beat, drawing her closer to her self-inflicted demise. If it’s a tremor she feels in her fingers, she ignores it. Instead, she obeys her resolve, clearing her mind.

 

To make peace with her life would be futile. Though a sinner may earn forgiveness with a single act of repentance, something nestles beneath her breastbone and convinces her that she is the exception. Humility doesn’t suit her. Such a virtue only twists her features. Sacrificing her pride is not an option. Her regrets lay buried in the cemetery of her psyche; the bare bones of her growth remain.

 

When she draws her revolver, her eyes linger on the barrel, and she notes the serenity in her reflection. She has never known peace, but that gaze warped along the metal suggests otherwise. Somber and sincere, her face betrays her choice.

 

She conjures nen bullets and loads them, the action dictated by muscle memory. Her fingertips register their phantom weight before surrendering them. They fall into place as they have for years now, and when she raises her gun, she commits the faces before her to memory.

 

Facing her death like this was not expected. She’s anticipated dying less like a martyr, more like a sacrifice, though she would never name herself either of these things. She steadies her grip and holds her silence like a hostage. If she speaks, she will provide her own eulogy. Instead, she levels her aim and inhales through her nose. For a brief moment, she wishes her last breath didn’t smell like trash and piss, but since this has been her life all along, she finds that nothing else would be suitable.

 

She smiles. She pulls the trigger.

 

* * *

 

He’d felt it the first time, with Uvogin in the dessert, a deep ache in the stomach, just below the lungs. It wasn’t quite like heartache, not nearly as harrowing, but it ached like something metaphysical. He couldn’t complain of it to the others, not without incurring odd looks or a lecture from Senritsu, so he bore the pain until it faded like a bruise and settled somewhere unseen.

 

Uvogin had hurt, but there was a righteousness in the pain, something redeeming in the agony. It was reward and punishment. Kurapika’s sins were his to bear, and so were his victories. A sole survivor would carry the burden alone. On his path to hell, he would drag down no one else.

 

With Pakunoda, it was different.

 

She was an original member. She had that same sharp glint of cruelty in her eyes, and her demeanor was like glacial ice, devoid of warmth and humanity.

 

But there was something there beneath the surface. Kurapika saw it in the way she interacted with Gon and Killua, how she obeyed his orders without complaint. Whatever she was, whatever she had done, she was different. It wasn’t enough to be spared of judgement, but Kurapika felt, for some reason, she deserved a chance. In the moments they shared, Kurapika saw a woman with a story, not a murderer with a motive. Whether that was true or just a well-executed facade, he didn’t care.

 

She welcomed the chain. Kurapika say a flash of himself in her and it sickened him. He wanted her out of sight, erased from memory, gone. The first opportunity he was granted, he turned away and closed his eyes.

 

When she died, Kurapika felt every moment.

 

The pain twisted in his stomach and curved underneath his ribs. He awoke from sleep gasping, clutching at his chest. He tasted blood and hunched over the side of his cot, gripping the metal frame with a trembling hand as bile bubbled and rose in his throat.

 

Her face burned in the darkness, scrawled in hazy white light like an afterimage. Even in outline, her eyes seemed sad.

 

Without a doubt, Kurapika knew that the woman had died, and that she’d done so by breaking the vow put in place. Only a few hours had passed. He wasn’t sure whether to fear or respect her.

 

Shivering and shaking, he lay back on the bed, drawing the blankets up to his chin and staring at the ceiling.

 

This was what he’d wanted. Revenge had planted its spiny legs in the recesses of his brain and guided him down the right paths. He’d fought to reach this point, and he was operating at an impressive rate, beyond the capabilities of professional assassins.

 

Adrenaline and pride were the farthest things from his mind. Securing two counts toward his goal didn’t feel like relief. What he’d done was commit murder. Blood was on his hands, and there was no going back. He could still smell Uvogin’s blood on his cheek and imagined he would always be haunted by the scent. Pakunoda’s sad, resolved stare would follow him, too.

 

Kurapika closed his eyes and felt sweat bead along his forehead. Fever overcame him before he dared to think of mourning.

 

* * *

 

 

If she is anywhere, Pakunoda imagines she is home.

 

The warm white light and twinkle of glass reassure her.

 

Though she knows she has died, she feels neither pain nor fear.

 

A figure looms ahead, broad and hairy, and a bellowing laugh sounds from his maw.

 

As she approaches, he turns and bears a familiar grin.

 

Pakunoda sits across from him and finds that her gaze is softer now.

 

She looks up into the white expanse above, finds it empty and whole.

 

With tender eyes and lonely satisfaction, Pakunoda smiles.


End file.
